


Drift Compatible

by moonblossom



Series: Fluid Dynamics [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Compatibility, Flat-as-Mind-Palace, Jaeger Pilots, M/M, Pre-Slash, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's a veteran Jaeger Ranger with more successful newbie drifts under his belt than anyone on record. Sherlock Holmes is an upstart young recruit who hasn't managed a single decent drift with anyone yet. But hopefully, that's all about to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift Compatible

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw Pacific Rim last night and couldn't get this scenario out of my head. I have no plans to expand it into anything larger, I just wanted to write this one little vignette. No spoilers for the movie, but if you haven't seen it yet the story might not make much sense.

Tired and weary, John sinks into the thin pad that passes for a mattress down here in the Shatterdome. This particular facility had been intended to be temporary, with little thought to long-term comfort. And then the plan with the nuke had gone all pear-shaped.

John's room, much like his mind, is a blank slate. Most of the other Rangers and hopefuls down here have hung pictures up, tried to make their sad little bunkers a bit warmer with personalised decor, a bright comforter on the sad little bed. Not John. He knows none of that is important. What's important is _the war_.

It's not that he's blocking the memories. He can't. Every time he closes his eyes, his head is flooded with images of Bill Murray, smiling at him from behind his helmet. Images of the Northumberland, her gleaming form grimy with the dirt of noble combat. Images of the giant, gaping hole in the side of the Conn-Pod, when the bloody Kaiju had taken Bill from his side.

No, it's not that he's blocking them. It's that he knows if he lets them fester, he'll never work again. He'll be a useless git with a bum shoulder. As it is now, his mind is at peace, and he's got the best record of anyone down in this hellhole when it comes to drifting with newbies. He's become a bit of a legend in that aspect.

He stares up at bare the ceiling, rolling his shoulder, trying to loosen the sore muscles. One of the hopefuls he'd been sparring with earlier had been hot-headed and trying to show off, and now John's old injury is feeling the aftermath. The clock shines bright in the darkness, flashing quarter to three in the morning. Bloody insomnia.

John loses whatever feeble hope he had of getting some sleep when the alarm goes off again. Another bloody attack. Groaning, he sits up and steps into his trousers, not even bothering to pull a shirt on over his scarred chest. Odds are, he's going to be donning a pilot suit sometime soon anyway. He's not sure whose Jaegers are functional right now though. Hell, for that matter, he's not sure which Rangers are functional right now. He shuffles out into the hall, rubbing his eyes.

He's barely got halfway to the main atrium when a firm, dark hand clamps down onto his shoulder. He fights the instinctive cringe that flares up whenever he's touched unexpectedly, but Marshall Pentecost must feel it anyway. He pulls his hand away carefully and nods at John, a look of curious introspection flickering across his features before he schools them back into stern control.

"Watson, just the man I was looking for. You up for a couple of firsts? New pilot, new Jaeger?"

Oh shit. The man following the Marshall is a bit of a legend in his own right down here too. Sherlock Holmes, pilot hopeful and all-around pompous arse. Tall and lean, with a tangle of hair that makes John's fingers itch to find a pair of clippers. Cheekbones that could probably be used as an anti-Kaiju weapon in their own right. Sharp eyes of an improbable blue-green-grey that are constantly taking in absolutely _everything_ around him, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, finding that _everything_ sorely lacking.

He's also totally green, no actual missions under his belt. Hell, no successful _drifts_ under his belt. Everyone claims his mind is too cluttered and chaotic to work with. What's Pentecost playing at?

"No. Sir, respectfully, absolutely fucking no." John stares up into Marshall Pentecost's steely gaze. "Nobody's been able to drift with him. We do talk in the mess, you know."

"Nobody has. _Not yet._ We need you, Watson."

John groans inwardly, eyes darting between Pentecost and Sherlock Holmes. "So it's come to this then? Everyone else out of commission?"

The droop in the Marshall's shoulders and the defeat in his eyes are almost imperceptible. John's just been working with him too long not to notice. Something in Sherlock's demeanor makes it clear that he noticed it too - it's as if he's gone from casual indifference to keen enthusiasm, all with a slight shift in his musculature. There's a flare of hope, however faint, in John's gut. This might just work after all.

"It's a small one, just a class 3, on its way up to the coast. If you can take him out and get it taken care of, it might be good practice. If he can drift with anyone, Watson, it's you."

"Is this an order, Sir?" John glances over at Sherlock again, who is back to feigning nonchalance, but underneath it all he's nearly vibrating with excitement.

Pentecost nods crisply. "Yes, Watson. It's an order. Suit up"

***

It's been a long time since John's given much interest to other people, but even he has to admit that Sherlock paints a pretty picture in the piloting suit. He's leaning against one of the control decks, the tight fabric clinging to him in ways that few folks, even the generally fit and muscular Rangers down here, can pull off. He snaps his head back to Pentecost as they pull up to the bay holding a brand-new Jaeger. She's black and shiny and new, with gleaming yellow trim highlighting her narrow lines and the big glowing core in her chest.

"We're calling her the Baker Bee. She's got one of the nuclear plants, and she's built light so she should be pretty quick - provided you two can get your heads into the game."

When John glances over at Sherlock again, he can't help but grin. The man's long, slim fingers are twitching and fidgeting, as if he's trying to restrain himself from reaching out and stroking whatever parts of the metal juggernaut he can reach. John had much the same reaction the first time he saw the Northumberland. For the second time since the alarm went off, John finds himself thinking that this _might just work out_.

***

"I assume you'll be taking right arm position? Your left is your dominant hand, but with your shoulder injury..."

"How did you-?"

Sherlock smiles, oddly genuine. "Oh, don't worry. You do an admirable job of hiding the fact that it still causes you pain. I suspect nobody on base currently, aside from Pentecost, of course, has any idea. But you write and eat with your left, and yet whenever you do any heavy lifting or seriously arduous tasks, you lead with the right."

"How long have you been studying me?" John raises an eyebrow. He's not sure whether to be flattered or wary. Or both.

There's a voice over the comms before Sherlock has a chance to reply.

"Ten seconds to neural handshake."

John breathes deeply, slowly, working to clear the last of the noise from his mind. It's probably a good thing he hasn't slept yet - last thing he wants is to bring recent nightmares into a drift with a brand new partner. No matter how temporary the arrangement may be. He shakes his head, trying not to dwell on that thought. No use getting attached to a rookie, especially without seeing the inside of his head first.

Sherlock, for his part, is muttering furiously to himself, eagerly taking in every detail inside the Conn-Pod with a look of intense concentration.

"Hey, kid?"

Sherlock scowls at him, clearly resentful of the moniker. "I'll have you know I'm only a couple of years younger than you are, but I assume you have some noble and inspirational advice for me, like all my other prospective partners have?"

Smirking, John nods. "I do. Shut up and stop thinking."

And with that, they're pulled into the drift. There's an incoherent blue-white blur as John feels himself pulled backwards through the network of shattered images. He manages to catch a glimpse of a tiny, lonely boy with ridiculous short pants and a shock of curly hair.

There's a strange thump under John's feet, and he realises he's standing on a well-worn floor of wide wooden boards. To his left is a kitchen, oddly warm and inviting despite being full of what appears to be chemistry equipment. To his right is a large lounge that manages to be airy and cozy at the same time, thanks to deep, rich furnishings and tall light windows. There is clutter absolutely _everywhere_ , boxes full of textbooks and beakers and glassware, electronics ranging from a model of laptop that shouldn't exist yet to a box of floppy diskettes from the eighties. There's a bull's skull on the wall, and a human skull on the mantle.

It should be insane, being in the physical manifestation of someone's mind like this. No wonder Sherlock's never managed to hold a drift before. But somehow, to John, this strange little mental construction feels more like home than anything he's ever known. He realises he's holding the projection of a mug in his hand, his RAMC mug, one of the few things he carries with him from his past. He places it carefully on the kitchen counter when he notices pale skinny legs in short pants and mussed hair ducking around the corner into the hallway of the strange memory-flat.

The Sherlock he'd been following had been about six years old, but the Sherlock he runs into as he turns the corner is thirty-odd, and wearing that damned distracting pilot suit. John coughs and clears his throat, and Sherlock chuckles.

"I see you've found your way around the place. I find it easier to open my mind to others when my thoughts are more organised."

A harsh but genuine laugh escapes John's throat. "This is _organised_?!"

Sherlock scowls and ducks back into the kitchen, attempting to tidy the clutter on the counter, when he finds John's mug.

"Settled in then, have you?" He picks it up, turning it over in his hands as he somehow manages to keep one eye on the mug and one eye on John's face. John stares at the mug.

"Guess I have, then."

"Well then. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?"

In a blink, they're back in the Conn-Pod, but John feels the familiar tremors of the mental link between them, strong and solid. In perfect synchronicity, they lunge forward, adrenaline coursing through their veins. And then the cocky bastard pulls to the side in his harness, nods at John, and _winks_.

**Author's Note:**

> OMG YOU GUYS, Cylin-aka-ankamo drew this amazing illustration of [Sherlock in the Baker Bee pilot suit](http://cylin-aka-ankamo.tumblr.com/post/62908093377/baker-bee-pilot-02-sherlock-pacific-rim-x-over), and it's amazing. Have I said that yet? Look at the bee-like details in the helmet! Eeeeee!
> 
> And because I am a giant dorkwad, I used the [Jaeger Designer](http://apps.warnerbros.com/pacificrim/designer/us/) to make mockups of both units.  
> 
> 
>   * [The Northumberland](http://31.media.tumblr.com/e0f2773d54d166f06008a613f03cd47c/tumblr_mqbdg16aOL1qcpwmwo2_1280.png)
>   * [The Baker Bee](http://24.media.tumblr.com/d47a541e1676e19abe96f201c8d93857/tumblr_mqbdg16aOL1qcpwmwo1_1280.png)
> 

> 
> And if you'd like to see John and Sherlock in their pilot suits, check out [this gorgeous art by Inchells](http://inchells.tumblr.com/post/55500821946/yes-i-did). She drew it way before I wrote this story, but was kind enough to let me link to it! <3
> 
> And here are some [awesome image manips of John and Sherlock in pilot suits](http://voodooling.tumblr.com/post/57297302725/sherlock-pacific-rim-au-tried-doing-some-edits), done by Voodooling. She did not make them for me, but said I could link to them as references :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Baker Bee Pilot 02](https://archiveofourown.org/works/988661) by [Cylin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin)




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